Superstitions
by WinterSunshine
Summary: Julie's POV/perspective of the day at First Beach (Ch. 6: Scary Stories, of Life and Death). One-shot for now, but may evolve into something more... I'll keep ya updated ;) Rated T for language.


**A/N:** Hi, guys! I'm still working on chapter nine of DD… It's giving me trouble—sorry for the delay! In the meantime, I'm giving you THIS!

I started this under the premise that I would be writing this purely for the purpose of Julie's character development, but I'm worried it's going to get away from me—hah! We'll see.

One minor change I made (or maybe assumption, I don't know) is having both Emma and Quil on the beach with Julie. In L&D, Julie mentions only Quil having attended the bonfire, but I thought it gave the trio a more apprised repartee having them all together.

I hope you enjoy Julie's POV of Chapter Six, Scary Stories!

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"Julie, c'mon! Sam's waiting for you!"

"I'm coming!" I shouted toward the kitchen as I sprinted from the bathroom into my bedroom, sifting through the mess on top of my dresser for that hair elastic I'd seen _somewhere_. Gah! Where did it _go_?

"Julie!"

" _Coming_!" I yelled again, and then huffed, abandoning the whole idea. I guess I would just have to go au naturel, as they say… I hated leaving my hair down around the beach—it always flew everywhere, and got in my way.

I grabbed my dirty and worn chucks from underneath the bed and hurried toward the front door.

"You'll be okay without me today?" I asked my mom, huffing as I hopped on one foot, trying to pull on the second shoe.

She rolled her eyes, grinning gamely. "Sure, sure. Go be a kid." She reached forward to shove me by the hip toward the door. Through the dingy windowpane, I could see Sam's GMC idling by the curb. Every seat was filled but one in the back, right between my two best friends.

I had never resented being my mom's sole caretaker. Aaron and Adam had done their thing after high school, and I had never been jealous of them or anything. They had their lives to live just as well as I did, and besides—my mom was one of my best friends. Aside from her kooky stories, we'd always shared pretty much the same opinion on _everything_.

I started to push through the door.

"Hey, Julie?" my mom called after me.

I stopped, one foot on the creaky front porch, and glanced back over my shoulder. She was holding out her hand, a rubber band dangling from the crook of her pointer finger. I grinned at her appreciatively.

"Thanks," I said, snatching it from her. I turned back toward the door only to pivot once more. I leaned down to kiss her on the cheek. "See ya."

"Have fun!" she called as I leaped off the front ramp and jogged toward the truck. Paula, who was sitting in the passenger seat, pushed open the door.

"Howdy!" I called to the crowd as I climbed past her and over the seatback, whacking my head on the dream-catcher that was dangling from the rearview as I did so.

"Watch it!" Quil complained as I flopped my feet in her lap, knocking her elbow. "I'm _trying_ to do my makeup."

I rolled my eyes as I clipped my seatbelt on. Apparently a bunch of the high school kids from Forks were gonna be at First Beach today, and _of course_ , Quil had to look her best.

Emma and I exchanged a knowing glance, and then simultaneously stretched across the seat to plant noisy kisses all over her cheeks.

"Guys!" she complained, genuinely bothered, which just made it all the more hilarious.

"Sit!" Sam snapped, her dark eyes serious as she regarded us in the rearview.

Emma and I did as she asked—forced into submission mainly by our parents' warnings.

"Sam's doing you a kindness driving you down to the beach," they said, pretty much every time, "Listen to what she says, and give her some respect."

They were always telling us to 'listen to Sam', 'do as she says', 'she knows things you don't', blah blah blah…

The drive lasted hardly a minute—we lived that close. But Sam had brought the truck because some of the kids wanted to surf. _I_ thought they were crazy. It wasn't even April yet—that water was probably ice cold.

As I hopped out and helped pull boards from the truck bed, I squinted toward the surf, where I could see that some of the kids already had a bonfire going. A few of them were gathered around, chatting, and I was surprised there were so few of them. Usually they rallied a whole lot more than that to come down. Especially when the weather was this nice.

Quil seemed to be looking for someone in particular and Emma and I approached her.

"Hey, Quil," I teased, winking at Emma, "Think Logan'll be here?"

Her dewy copper skin turned bright red—just the reaction I'd been hoping for—and I busted up laughing.

"Maybe he'll ask you to prom this year!" Emma joined in teasingly.

"Maybe he'll ask you to go steady—or even better, _marry_ him!" I added jovially.

"Shut _up_!" Quil snapped at us, folding her arms sullenly across her chest. But I noticed that her searching eyes did not slow, and the blush took a long time to fade from her cheeks.

Emma laughed easily, taking pity on our friend. "I'm starving—who wants to come get food with me?"

"Sure," I said immediately. I was always game for food.

Quil joined us, too, and we headed back the way we'd come—headed for the one convenience store in the village. I linked my arm through Emma's as we walked, because Quil was too busy with her lipgloss— _que the rolling of the eyes_ —and I let my eyelids fall for a short time, letting Em guide my steps along the dirt road.

The sky was bright blue today, the sun unblocked by the clouds and rain, and I basked in the heat beating down on the crown of my head, soaking through my hair and sending warm shivers of pleasure down my spine. The breeze was salty with the brine of the ocean, and the call of the circling gulls and pelicans was music all its own.

I concentrated on the even thump of my heart behind my ribs, the feel of the gravel under the soles of my shoes, and the faint smell of Emma's sweat. She'd always been self-conscious of her quick reaction to the warmth of the sun, but I didn't think she smelled _bad_ , per se—just sort of… Musky. Like the forest, and the earth around us. It was a nice smell, a pleasant, comforting smell.

Emma and I had been close since we were babies. We were in school before Quil came into the picture, but the three of us clicked right away—and ever since, we'd been hanging out together.

The little bell chimed as Quil pushed through the door ahead of us. We followed after her through the opening, but she abruptly screeched to a halt in front of us.

"Oomph!" I huffed as I bowled into her. She didn't react.

"What's wrong?" Emma asked, her dark eyes taking in the small display of shelves and the refrigerators along the back wall. There was a panicked look on her face, as if she was searching for some kind of hold-up or something.

Granted, my assumptions weren't any less dire, but it was suddenly very easy to see why Quil was suddenly squirmier than a snake in a pillbox.

"Oooh," I cooed lowly in her bright pink ear, "There's _Looow-gannnn…_ You should go say hi!"

Emma snickered, giving Quil a little shove forward.

"Hey, Lo—!" I started to call, lifting my hand to wave at the Forks boys, who were gathered by the till, paying for their food and sodas.

Quil's hand slapped against my mouth, and she slugged me hard in the shoulder.

"Ouch!" I squealed, and turned to punch her right back.

The guys at the counter glanced back at us inquisitively, but then turned back to what they were doing when they realized it was just a couple of the Quileute girls, being kids.

"I will _kill_ you if you do that again!" Quil snarled harshly, her eyes wild.

She still had her hand over my mouth, so I parted my lips and licked her palm.

" _Eughh_!" she screamed, pulling it away and wiping it off on her pant leg. "Nasty!"

"Mm," I said, smacking my lips, "Salty."

"You are so, _so_ —!" Quil's mouth opened and closed a few times, but it seemed she was at a loss for words.

"Disgusting?" Emma suggested.

"Hilarious?" I chimed in.

Quil's thick, perfectly shaped eyebrows pulled together. " _Obnoxious_ ," she growled, and then pivoted on her heel, heading toward the candy aisle.

"That works, too," I said, shrugging gamely.

A few minutes later—though it was a few more than _I_ would have liked, since Quil refused to leave the convenience store until Logan had gone ahead of us—we joined everybody around the bonfire on the beach.

A dark-haired girl with acne problems greeted us as we joined them, taking the initiative to do a round of introductions. I grinned at each of the kids as she said their names.

A few minutes later, Erica—I'd learned her name—did the same thing with some of the kids who were just getting back from visiting the tidal pools.

"… That's Allie Walters, and Becca Cheney, and Todd Sawatzky… And those slowpokes bringing up the rear are Allen Weber and Beaufort Swan," she finished.

 _Swan_?

Automatically, I glanced up at the two guys who were last to join the circle. I didn't know which one of them was who, but I kinda hoped the cuter of the two might be Beau. He was tall—like, I'm talking basketball player tall, at _least_ 6"2, with pale skin that somehow looked… Sort of pretty in the sunshine, instead of sickly and weird. The contrast of dark hair against that skin made him even better looking. And his eyes were bluer than any other eyes I had ever seen in my life.

But I recognized the name immediately, because Charlie Swan, the police chief of Forks, was my mom's best friend; had been for a long time. Apparently my brothers had spent a lot of time with Beau when they were younger. My mom had said something about him coming to live with his dad this year, but honestly, I'd forgotten. The kid had been friends with my older brothers, and they were gone now. He'd always been older than me, and a _boy_ at that—which meant he probably wouldn't have enjoyed playing with my Barbie Dream House too much…

For some reason, I felt sorta nervous or something as we all ate lunch together. I wanted to go talk to him—I figured I could probably use our parents as a common interest—but every time I thought about getting up from where I was sitting on the ground, rockets started blasting off in my stomach, and filling my throat up with a weird feeling.

I guess I could understand where Quil was coming from, now.

I tried to think of something to say other than pointing out the friendship between my mom and his dad. The last time I'd seen Charlie, he'd bought that old Chevy off my mom. I'd been so glad to see it go; that meant she'd let me start working on the Rabbit. It had cleared up a lot of my space for me. Maybe I could ask him how it was working?

In the next half hour, the clouds that had been safely ringing the bright blue sky crowded out the sun, casting shadows across the beach.

When people started splitting off in small groups, I figured it was a good opportunity to get a little closer to the fire. I pretended not to see all the other open seats around the flickering purple-blue flames and took the spot right next to the tall, blue-eyed boy.

 _Okay, girl,_ I thought to myself, _You've got this. Just say hi._

I planted a grin on my face and turned to him. "You're Beaufort Swan, aren't you?"

For whatever reason, his face fell, settling into a mask of something like disappointment.

 _Oops._ What had I done wrong?

"Beau," he corrected me then.

"Right," I said. _Noted_. "I'm Julie Black." I held my hand out for him to shake, hoping my palms weren't sweaty or anything. Ugh. What was wrong with me? "You bought my mom's truck."

"Oh," he said as he slid his dry hand into mine and shook. Suddenly, he looked pleased. "Bonnie's your mom. I… Probably should remember you."

"Nah." I tucked my hair behind my ear. "I'm the youngest of the family—you would remember my older brothers."

I saw the light of recognition in his eyes, and found myself fascinated by how a simple shift in emotion could change their color so much. "Adam and Aaron," he said then. "Adam and Aaron and… Jules, wasn't it?"

I grinned, entirely too pleased by his unexpected distinction. "You do remember. No one's called me that since my brothers left." It had been their nickname for me while we'd been growing up.

"They aren't here?" Beau asked, scanning the group of kids hanging out by the water, splashing and throwing goopy strings of seaweed at each other.

"No, Adam got a scholarship to Washington State, and Aaron married a Samoan surfer—he lives in Hawaii now." I shrugged. Talia was great—but she'd kind of stolen one of my big brothers away from me. And they, like, _never_ visited.

"Married," Beau said, surprise apparent in his tone, "Wow."

"So how do you like the truck?"

I was becoming more and more relaxed every second. Now that I knew that he was actually really nice and wasn't just going to brush me off like some little kid, I thought we might actually get along pretty well.

"I love it. It runs great."

"Yeah, but it's really slow." I laughed. "I was _so_ relieved when Charlie bought it. My mom wouldn't let me work on building another car when we had a 'perfectly good' vehicle right there."

"It's not that slow," he said, his expression dubious.

"Have you tried going over sixty?" I teased, knowing the farthest he'd probably driven it had been to the other end of town and back.

"No."

"Good. Don't," I said, grinning as his ears went a little pink. How did _blushing_ make him look even cuter?

Then he smiled back, and the blushing was _nothing_ compared to that. His teeth were so white and straight. "It does great in a collision."

"I don't think a tank could take out that old monster!" I agreed, laughing again.

"So you build cars?" he asked, and I wondered if I was just flattering myself, or if he really was that interested.

"When I have free time, and parts," I said, shrugging—trying to act casual. "You wouldn't happen to know where I could get my hands on a master cylinder for a 1986 Volkswagen Rabbit?" I joked, still grinning like an idiot. I wondered if he had any sort of forte with cars. It might be kind of fun to work on them together.

"Sorry," he apologized, chuckling, "I haven't seen any lately, but I'll keep my eyes open for you."

Just then, a voice floated over my shoulder, interrupting us. "You know Beaufort, Julie?" I could hear the snide bitterness in his voice, and wondered what had crawled up _his_ butt and died.

"Beau and I have sort of known each other since I was born," I told Logan, grinning conspiratorially at Beau. He seemed to appreciate that.

"How nice for you."

I felt my eyebrows lift on my forehead with surprise at the impossibly sour underscore to his statement. Some emotion crossed Beau's face—something that told me he didn't like the kid very much. Well, _I_ could definitely draw a line in the sand.

"Yes," I said sarcastically, "Isn't it wonderful?"

I grinned, overjoyed, when it looked like Beau was trying to smother his humor. He cleared his throat, looking away, toward the flames for a moment, which flickered in the mirror his eyes made.

"Beau," Logan went on, and I rolled my eyes, which Beau caught but Logan didn't. "Taylor and I were just saying that it was too bad none of the Cullens could come out today. Didn't anyone think to ask them?"

A weird silent exchange passed between the two guys, but I wasn't really paying much attention to that. Across the circle, I could see Sam eyeing the two of them warily now, the expression in her eyes defensive, and I sighed tetchily.

She seemed to hear that, her gaze flickering to my face and then away so quickly, I wasn't sure if I'd seen right.

"You mean Dr. Carine Cullen's family?" she spoke up then, squaring her shoulders as she stood—as if it were her _duty_ or something to tally every time someone talked about the Cullens.

So _annoying_. I rolled my eyes again.

"Yes," Logan said, his tone condescending, "Do you know them?"

"The Cullens don't come here," she practically spat, and at the sound of her words, so clearly and firmly spoken, something locked up inside my chest. All these superstitions were getting _real_ old.

When I turned back to Beau, I noticed that he was still watching her, and again, there was some intense question in his eyes, setting his features in a mask of almost careful curiosity.

"So," I said, trying to regain his attention, "Is Forks driving you insane yet?"

The corners of his lips pulled down into a scowl, and finally, he turned to face me again. "I'd say that's an understatement."

I grinned. Boy, did I get _that_. The days had a tendency to run together when you couldn't find something productive to do.

Now, his expression was distracted again. I just watched him for a minute, the curiosity practically bursting in my throat. I wanted to ask him what he wanted to know, willing to do pretty much anything for him at this point. It seemed insane, but I already considered him a friend, even though we'd known each for such a short period of time.

I wondered if he could feel that immediate connection as well as I could?

As strange as it was, I found myself thinking about _Anne of Green Gables_ , of all things, and kindred spirits. I shook my head. It had been forever since I'd read those books, and such a weird time to remember them now.

Beau looked up at me then, his expression at once speculative and bursting with curiosity.

"What?" I asked.

Something shifted in the his eyes. "You want to take a walk down the beach with me?"

He wanted to be alone, with _me?_ How was that possible? I was just a kid. He was a junior, I was a freshman—I knew I really had no chance at all with him, but it suddenly seemed possible… in the far-off future, maybe.

Or, probably it was more likely that he was just sick of Logan. I glanced his way, laughing at my own ridiculous daydreaming. "Yeah, let's get out of here."

I led him north up the beach as the clouds scuttled together, blocking out the rest of the sun. I wondered if I should feel colder as I watched Beau shove his hands into the pockets of his rain jacket.

We walked in silence for awhile, and I found my thoughts drifting as we headed up the beach. I wondered how close he really was to any of those guys back on the beach—he definitely didn't seem on friendly terms with Logan. The Allen kid had seemed nice, but even him he didn't seem to have much of a connection with.

I kind of doubted Beau would want much to do with me—I was just a kid, after all—but who ever passed up the opportunity to make a friend, right?

"Nice friends," I said once we were out of earshot, wanting to get a bead on what he really thought about them.

"Not mine," he said.

I laughed, the comment somehow flooding me through with more concentrated joy I thought was totally appropriate. "I could tell."

"Were those other kids your friends?" he asked as we walked, "That one seemed kind of… older."

"That's Samantha—Sam," I explained. "She's nineteen, I think. I don't hang out with her. One of my friends was there before—Quil. I think she went up to the store."

"I don't remember which one she was," he admitted.

I shrugged, unoffended. "I didn't catch many names, either," I confided. "I only remember yours because you used to pull my hair." I peeked up at him, trying to smother my joking grin.

"I did?" he said, horrified, and his face went all red again. "I'm so sorry!"

I laughed. "Your face!" I pointed out. The teasing had been well worth the reward. Man, he was as gullible as a little kid! But way taller… "No—that was just my brothers," I reassured him, unable to keep him squirming like that. It was just too pathetic—hilarious, but definitely cruel. "But I totally could have convinced you that you were guilty."

We laughed together, and I was glad he wasn't bothered by my teasing. "Guess so—hey, can I ask you something?"

The two sentences blurred together so closely, that it took me a second to process.

"Shoot," I assented.

He seemed to hesitate, just for a minute. "What did that girl—Sam—what did she mean about-about the doctor's family?"

 _Ugh_ … Really? I'd been willing to give him _anything_ , but he had to go and ask about the one thing I 'wasn't supposed to' talk about. Gimme a break!

It was all so freaking stupid! The stories and theories were all just silly superstitions, but my kooky old mother insisted on believing in them! And now, for some reason, Sam believed them, too.

"Hey, um, I didn't mean to be rude or anything."

I turned toward him, realizing I'd been looking away. Though I tried to keep my smile as carefree as it had been before, I knew there was a contrite note to it now. I could feel it on my face. "No worries," I told him, "It's just… I'm not really supposed to talk about that."

"Is it a secret?"

I puckered my lips, trying to think of a better word for it, but really? It kind of _was_. "Sort of," I admitted.

Beau held his hands up suddenly, palms forward and long, pale fingers splayed. "Forget I asked."

What was the ridiculous _point_ of it all anyway? At any rate, I didn't think Beau would tell anyone.

Besides, I felt kind of bad for him. He looked sort of… Disappointed.

I sighed. "Already blew it, though, didn't I?"

"I wouldn't say _you_ did," he assured me, "That girl, Sam, was a little… intense."

I laughed, relieved. Okay—that worked for me! "Cool. Sam's fault, then."

He laughed, too, and the sound carried on the breeze ahead of us. "Not really, though. I'm totally confused."

I gave him another teasing grin, though I figured I could probably trust him. He was nice—nice enough to laugh at my jokes. And so far, he seemed pretty dependable.

"Can I trust you?"

"Of course," he said without hesitation.

"You won't go running to spill to your blond friend?" I badgered.

"Logan? Oh yeah, I can't keep anything from that guy. We're like brothers," he said, rolling his eyes. His tone was thick with sarcasm.

I laughed, thrilled. Nice, dependable, cute… And _funny_!

So then I focused on making this the best experience I could. I lowered my voice dramatically, and leaned a little closer—inhaling the smell of his soap. It made me a little dizzy. "Do you like scary stories, Beau?" I felt a little thrill go through me when I said his name.

"How scary are we talking here?" he inquired.

"You'll never sleep again," I guaranteed with a little nod of my head.

"Well, now I have to hear it."

I laughed again, and then dropped my gaze to my feet as we walked a little further. I remembered all the silly legends I'd had memorized since I was a little baby, sorting through them to think of the scariest ones. _The Third Husband_? Nah—too morbid. Maybe some of the origin stories, or _The Cold Ones_! Ooh… Yeah, that'd freak him out for _sure_! _And_ it would explain Sam's whole stupid reaction to Logan's questions.

We'd come to the huge, fallen bleached tree that had been around for as long as I could remember, and I climbed up to sit on one of the thicker roots. Beau stayed closer to the ground, perching on the edge of the trunk with his feet flat on the ground.

When I glanced down into his face, I realized—bless his heart—that he was _really_ into this! I felt almost bad… But not really.

"I'm ready to be terrified," he urged.

I took a deep breath, really hoping he wouldn't tell anyone—I'd be in a hell of a lot of trouble—and began to speak. "Do you know any of our old stories, about where we come from—the Quileutes, I mean?"

"Not really."

I had expected as much. "There are lots of legends, some of them claiming to date back to the Great Flood—supposedly, the ancient Quileutes tied their canoes to the tops of the tallest trees on the mountain to survive like Noah and the ark." I grinned at him, rolling my eyes at the ridiculousness of the whole thing. "Another legend claims that we descended from wolves—and that the wolves are our sisters still. It's against tribal law to kill them… Then there are the stories about the _cold ones_." Unerringly, my voice dropped a couple notches, and a strange shiver went through me, though I wasn't exactly cold.

"The cold ones?" he repeated, his eyes wide and fixed intently on my face.

"Yes," I continued, "There are stories of the cold ones as old as the wolf legends, and some much more recent." I resisted the urge to roll my eyes again. "According to legend, my own great-grandmother knew some of them. She was the one who made the treaty that kept them off our land." This time I couldn't resist. I'd seen the yellowed, ancient piece of paper, passed down through generations. I'd seen the way my mom handled it with such care—as if it were actually _real_ and not just some big hoax.

"Your great-grandmother?"

Beau's question reoriented my focus. "She was a tribal elder, like my mother. You see, the cold ones are the natural enemies of the wolf—well, not wolf, really, but the wolves that turn into women, like our ancestors. You could call them werewolves, I guess."

"Werewolves have enemies?" he asked, seeming truly riveted.

"Only one." I paused for dramatic effect, examining his upturned face, his slightly parted lips. "So you see, the cold ones are traditionally our enemies. But this pack that came to our territory during my great-grandmother's time was different. They didn't hunt the way others of their kind did—they weren't supposed to be dangerous to the tribe. So my great-grandmother made a truce with them. If they would promise to stay off our lands, we wouldn't expose them to the pale-faces." I winked at him as I introduced the silly new term.

"If they weren't dangerous," Beau said, "Then why…?"

"There's always a risk for humans to be around the cold ones," I said, cringing at the way I sounded exactly like my mother. "Even if they're civilized like this one alleged they were. You never know when they might get _too hungry to resist_." I deliberately urged the menacing cackle into my voice.

But Beau didn't laugh. In fact, he seemed totally serious now. "What do you mean, 'civilized'?"

"They claimed that they didn't hunt humans. They supposedly were somehow able to prey on animals instead."

"So… How does it fit in with the Cullens?" he asked, and if I wasn't mistaken, I thought his voice was a little shaky. "Are they like the cold ones your great-grandmother met?"

"No… They are the _same_ ones." I grinned when a frisson of fear tore through his eyes. "There are more of them now, a new female and a new male, but the rest are the same. In my great-grandmother's time they already knew of the leader, Carine. She'd been here and gone before _your_ people had even arrived." I had to try _really_ hard to keeping the mocking edge out of my voice.

"And what are they? What _are_ the cold ones?" he finally asked.

"Blood drinkers," I hissed spookily. "Your people call them… _Vampires_."

In a very measured motion, Beau swiveled his head until he was staring out at the ocean. I didn't understand the expression on his face. Had he really believed _any_ of that? I mean, I guess I was pleased—because it seemed I'd done a pretty good job of freaking him out…

"You have goose bumps on your neck." I laughed, smug.

"You're a good storyteller." His voice was flat, and he still hadn't returned his gaze to my face.

"Thanks," I sighed, "But you're just cold. It's crazy stuff, isn't it? No wonder my mom doesn't want us to talk about it to anyone."

"Don't worry," he murmured, "I won't give you away."

"I guess I just violated the treaty." I laughed again, disbelieving. Like any of that _actually_ existed. Right.

"I'll take it to the grave," Beau promised, and then shivered in the shade.

"Seriously, though," I added, a sliver of doubt spearing my consciousness. That, or maybe I knew just how furious my mom would be if she found out I'd told someone. "Don't say anything to Charlie. He was pretty mad at my mom when he heard that some of us weren't going to the hospital since Dr. Cullen started working there."

He promised that he wouldn't say anything.

"So, do you think we're a bunch of superstitious natives or what?" I teased, but I was suddenly, weirdly anxious. At the time, I'd thought letting him in on it was a good idea, but now… Now, I wasn't so sure.

Would it change his impression of me?

He turned back to me then, with a big smile on his face. "No," he said, "I think you're very good at telling scary stories, though. I still have goose bumps, see?" He pulled up the sleeve of his jacket, revealing his forearm, which was worked through with lean muscle.

"Cool."

Just then, the telltale clatter of rocks announced someone's approach. Our heads turned toward the noise at the same time. There was the kid named Jeremy—I only knew that because we had a Jeremy with us, too—and a blonde chick with a perky, cheerleader-esque ponytail, tied with a pink ribbon and everything. M… M-something… Maddy? Mar… Marya?... Huh. I gave up, deciding it didn't really matter.

"There you are, Beau!" she called, waving her arm in a wide arc over her head.

I wanted to gag, hearing the obvious infatuation in her voice, seeing it on her pinched little face. "Is that your girlfriend?"

Unexpectedly, my assumption seemed to almost startle him. "No, _why_ does everyone think that?"

I snorted. In some ways, the blonde chick reminded me of Quil—but not in an especially _bad_ way… "Maybe because she wants them to."

Beau exhaled, obviously over it.

"You ever need a break from these friends of yours, let me know," I offered as casually as I could. I didn't think there was ever a chance of that happening.

Surprising me, though, he seemed to take me up on it.

"That sounds cool."

The two had reached us then, and I watched as Perky Miss Ponytail gave me a look that was clearly disdainful. The condemnation was written all over her face. She gave me a once-over—like, from the movies and everything—and then curved her shoulders in a way that was _clearly_ meant to shun me.

I snorted again.

"Where have you been?" she demanded. God—talk about _dumb blonde_. I rolled my eyes behind her back, where she couldn't see me. Though I sure as hell would have done the same thing if I'd been in front of her. But that had been _her_ choice.

"Jules here was just giving me the guided tour of First Beach," Beau said, and turned to smile widely at me. In an instant, all my petulance had disappeared. Not only had he grinned at me, but I really liked the way my nickname sounded coming out of his mouth. Probably more than I should have, to be honest, but whatever.

"Well," Perky Miss Ponytail said, throwing me another snobbish glance, "We're packing up. Looks like it's going to rain."

"Okay, I'm coming."

I recognized that this was the last time I'd see him—probably for awhile. My mom was still all up in arms about the hospital thing, and I didn't know how long it would take me to chip away at her hardened defense… But suddenly, I was committed to doing so.

"It was nice to see you _again_ ," I said to Beau—let Perky Miss Ponytail take _that_ in whatever way she wanted to.

"It really was," he agreed. "Next time Charlie comes down to see Bonnie, I'll come with."

I felt the smile stretch my lips so tightly it was almost painful—and for a minute, I completely forgot about the wedge stuck between my mom and his dad. "That would be cool," I managed to say.

"And… Thanks," he added quietly, leaning in just enough so that I could smell him again.

I threw him a surreptitious wink, and then watched him turn away, pulling up his hood and shoving his hands deep in his pockets as the three of them strode back toward the parking lot.


End file.
